The Sky, The Sea, The Devil, You and Me
by Noxbait
Summary: They'd ganked the ghost that had been haunting the freighter. At least, they thought they had. But now they were on a sinking ship in the middle of one of the oceans; they just couldn't remember which one. But the biggest problem was that neither of them could quite be sure they weren't actually in hell. (Set S7, sometime following Time After Time but before Repo Man.) Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi Everyone! If you're following The Christmas Spirit...never fear! I have not given up nor lost interest. I just have been busy with work and then I jotted this two-shot down for a friend who's been going through some really rough stuff lately and needed a special cheer up. So of course, I soundly whumped the Winchesters to bring a smile to her face. :D I know, I'm weird with crazy on top...but I think most of us are in the best way possible lol.**

 **I'm well at work on ch 33 of Christmas Spirit and hope you all forgive the long delay. And I also hope you will enjoy this little two-shot!**

* * *

 ** _Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced._**

 ** _~Soren Kierkegaard~_**

He was going to drown in hell.

And the only reason that made any kind of sense was because that was exactly the kind of sense his entire life had made. He could hear the water, lapping nearby. But he didn't feel wet. Not yet anyway. So maybe he wasn't going to drown. Besides, whatever was eating his guts while he watched was very likely to finish the job first. Dean felt the tearing of teeth and couldn't stop the scream this time. And then he was swearing, cursing and telling the demon in no uncertain terms that he didn't appreciate having his liver munched on. And then there was a voice. A vaguely familiar voice and Dean held his breath for a moment, trying to listen.

"No, no, no, no, please don't say that. You're not being eaten...no, no, no, no, no…"

Dean laughed, but it was more of a sob. He didn't want to listen to that vaguely familiar voice lying to him. Because he could _see_ it, see the claws, see the blood, see the awfulness of the wound. He writhed under the painful hold, feeling the world tilt and turn and spin. It was dark, lit only by the fires all around him.

Sulphur, flames, black billowing smoke.

He screamed again as fresh agony tore through his body as the demon continued to _eat_ him.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…"

The demon was talking again, was it Alistair? Dean couldn't tell because his ears felt stuffed with cotton, _burning cotton_ , and the voice didn't sound quite right. The voice sounded _broken_ , sounded in pain, sounded desperate. Sounded sort of like….

"Not being eaten...no, no, no, no, please, please stop saying that!"

Sounded like the voice was crying.

Dean stilled his restless and futile attempts to shift away from the demon. He blinked through the smoky, fiery haze and felt the sting of tears as his eyes reacted to the smoke. And then he was blinking even more because something was wrong. Very wrong. He almost laughed again because how much more _wrong_ could it get when he was being eaten alive in hell?

And then he tried to lift his head and the world splintered into a million bright red pieces and the pain in his body escalated and he felt more teeth and more claws and he was screaming. But this time he wasn't just screaming. This time he was screaming the only thing that his mind could focus on to get him through these sessions.

"Sam!" He shouted, eyes pressed closed, entire body trembling. His voice sounded pathetic and weak, but he kept screaming, "Sam! Sam! SAM!"

"Dean! I'm right here!"

Dean sobbed, because it sounded like Sam had answered him; that he _was_ right here. And that pain, _that_ absolute agony made the earlier torture seem like a day at the park. That pain threatened to break him in ways that nothing else could; that nothing else _ever_ would. He wanted to keep fighting the demon, keep fighting every last monster that was trying to tear him apart down here. But he couldn't. Because whenever they did this, whenever they made him think Sam was right here, whenever they did this, he couldn't do it anymore.

So he just let the pain drag him under into blessed unconsciousness.

The entire time he drifted away, he could still hear not-real Sam calling his name and the tears that rolled down his cheeks were the only thing that felt refreshingly cold as fires burned all around him.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam's voice was shaking as badly as his hands were. As bad as _all_ of him was. Hands still pressed against the wound in Dean's side, Sam stared at his brother's dirty, sweaty, tearstained face and prayed. He spared one hand and pressed bloody, shaky fingers against Dean's neck. His fingers slipped off Dean's neck three times before he could finally find his pulse. He almost collapsed at the feel of that pulse. "Dean?"

But Dean was gone again and at least he was just unconscious again and not dead. Sam sagged forward until his forehead came to rest on the back of his hands as he continued to hold pressure on the wound. Listening to his brother screaming his name and begging not to be _eaten_ as he's tried to keep him from bleeding out of the wound in his side was almost more than he could take. He was having a hard enough time sorting out what was real and what wasn't. He didn't need that kind of imagery to make it even harder. It was killing him.

 _He's not looking so good is he? Probably gonna die any moment now._

Sam stiffened, but didn't look around. Because he didn't want to see him. Not again. The fact that he'd chosen to show up at a time like this wasn't exactly surprising, Sam knew, but it didn't make it any easier. Sam lifted his head and checked the wound, desperate to keep his mind busy on something important. Something _real._ And Dean's blood was very real and felt warm on his hands. It was the only thing that felt warm.

Shivering and feeling his teeth chatter, Sam forced himself to focus.

 _Focus, Sammy. That's a good idea. But why not focus on me?_

And then he was right there, sitting on the other side of Dean, grinning and laughing, and Sam had to turn away, hands not breaking contact with Dean, while he threw up.

 _Aw, you're not looking so good either, Sammy._

Gagging, Sam couldn't look up, kept his eyes pressed closed. He weakly spit on the dirty ground and hoped that would be the end of it. Because he didn't have time for this. But when he felt just a little stronger and it had been a little _quieter_ , he turned back to Dean. Only to find _him_ with his head pressed close to Dean's chest. Sam froze, not wanting to look, not wanting to see it, but helpless to resist.

 _He's still breathing, don't worry. I won't hurt him. Much._

And then _he_ had a blade that he was stabbing through Dean's throat and Sam choked back a sob, burying his own face against Dean's chest so he could hear his heartbeat, reassure himself it wasn't real. Because he couldn't see that. Not again. Not right now. _Please, please, make it stop,_ Sam tried to calm his breathing as he listened to Dean's heartbeat, _make him go away_.

 _I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. I'm right here in hell with you and big brother. Whole happy family together at last. And we're not going anywhere._

This time, when _he_ crushed Dean's skull between his hands and Sam felt the splatter of blood all over his face, he had to let go. Had to pray Dean wasn't going to bleed out in the minute it took him to clutch his left hand so tightly that he hurt all the way up to his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to look around, to concentrate. And then he almost cried in relief that it was just him and Dean again. And Dean was alive. Bleeding and concussed and definitely confused when he was awake, but he was alive.

So Sam put his hands back against his brother's bloody side and the tears that rolled down his cheeks were the only thing that felt refreshingly warm as the ice burned all around him.

* * *

Awareness came slowly and Dean wasn't sure if it were a blessing or a curse. He was confused; mind a jumbled, muddied mess and he hated that feeling. But he could already feel the sharp pain coursing through his body and he knew he was injured. How it had happened was a complete mystery. How bad it was…well, he was starting to get a clue as he came fully back to consciousness.

For one thing, his head throbbed more enthusiastically than it ever had after a good night out drinking. He felt sick to his stomach and, speaking of stomach, Dean realized his left side was where just about 100% of the fiery pain was situated. Except for the 100% of the fiery pain in his head.

"Two hundred percent." He mumbled around what seemed like a mouthful of marbles.

Forcing his eyes open, Dean could see nothing but blackness and for a long second he was sure he was blind. But then his eyes adjusted and he realized he wasn't blind. Just in a really dark place. He smelled sulphur, smoke and saw the fire.

Everywhere.

"No!" Dean shouted, jackknifing upright only to fall flat on his back, his shout of protest turning to a scream of pain.

He had no idea how much time passed before he found his way back from the darkness again. This time, at least, he remembered two important things. One, a demon had been eating him and two, it was a good idea to move slowly. Eyes opening again, he rolled his head carefully to the side and felt the heat of the flames on his face and he remembered a third thing.

He was in hell.

Groaning, he curled himself over onto his left side, cradling his hands around his half-devoured middle. It wasn't necessarily any less painful or any easier to think or breathe, but at least he somehow felt a little more protected than he had felt flat on his back. After who knew how long, he got his eyes opened again and wondered when the torture was going to start up again. When minutes passed, or days, it was hard to tell, and nothing came to rip his skin off, Dean felt himself actually begin to relax.

Which was always a mistake because that was when they came back and started it all over again. But for right now, he was too weak and in too much pain to keep his defenses up. So Dean just lay there, staring at the flames licking up the walls all around him. His gaze drifted upward and he realized he could see stars.

He'd never seen the stars before.

Eyes widened, he felt a new pain. In his heart. This was the sort of thing that hurt more than any of the other torture. This pain was the pain of remembering and being allowed to think for a minute that he was out. Just like when they'd conjured up Sam's voice earlier. A tear ran down his cheek as he lowered his gaze from the not-real stars. Dean looked back at the flames, then his gaze drifted lower and he saw water.

Weird.

Stars and water. What would Alistair think of next? Why was he doing this? Why wasn't he on the rack with Alistair staring at him with that awful, hateful smile? Dean couldn't muddle it all out. His head hurt too much. So he just pressed his face into the warm coat under his head and breathed out a sigh as he realized it was Sam's jacket. Even if it wasn't real, somehow it made him feel better and he fell asleep dreaming of the countless times he and Sam had sat on the hood of the Impala under the stars.

* * *

Sam's lungs were burning even if the rest of him was freezing. He surfaced and almost drowned right then as he struggled to stay focused enough to keep his head above the water. There wasn't anything to hang on to and it was hard to get a breath when _he_ kept shoving his head under the waves over and over.

 _I think you need swimming lessons, Sammy. You seem to be struggling a little._

And then Sam went under again, but _his_ face was always there under the water too. Panicked, Sam kicked and surfaced again. He spit a mouthful of water out and said to himself, "It's not real, not real, not real. He's not real."

The water went over his head again as he pressed the scar on his left hand and forgot to keep kicking. This time he was alone under the surface. Eyes wide, stinging from the salt water, Sam looked around the near-black water and didn't see _him_ anymore. Relief flooded through him and it was so strong that Sam relaxed, not even realizing he was drifting further from the surface. The ice was soaking through his body and it felt so good that he closed his eyes.

It would have been so easy to ignore the ache in his body and the sharp pain in his chest and just let the icy water quietly suck him under, but, as consciousness began to waver, Sam's mind suddenly filled with the one image he could not ignore. And his eyes opened as he kicked and beat his uncoordinated arms until he felt a shock of cold air against his face. The shock was enough to cause him to suck in a deep, desperate breath of air and start coughing up all the water he hadn't realized he'd swallowed.

Sam looked around frantically. He remembered Dean. Dean was hurt. Bad. But as he looked at the flames and water all around him, he couldn't remember anything else. Couldn't remember what he was doing. He slid beneath the water again and it was so much harder to remember to come up again this time. Sam just kept repeating Dean's name over and over and that was enough to bring him up every time he sank too low.

Spinning around, bobbing helplessly, Sam tried to find Dean. To figure out where he was supposed to be going. Dean was here somewhere and he'd know what Sam was supposed to be doing. Sam just needed to find him first. He frowned as he turned in a complete circle. He was inside. Swimming. Inside? The water slipped over his head and he couldn't remember which way was up. Heart clenching in his chest, Sam wiped at his eyes as if that would help and kicked helplessly. It was hopeless. He could be swimming the complete wrong direction for all he knew.

And then he saw something he hadn't seen before.

Stars.

Sam immediately swam in that direction, kicking with leaden legs and numb arms. His head was above the water and he was breathing again. Sam stared up at the stars. The stars. Vaguely, he knew he needed to get out of the water, even though he couldn't figure out why exactly. But he was transfixed by the stars. They were bright and so close. He floated onto his back, eyes focused on the pinpricks of light that were so clear above the flames all around him.

The flames.

The cold.

Sam's breath caught and he almost went under again as he felt something move next to him. He couldn't, wouldn't look. Because he could hear _him_ laughing again and he didn't want to see his face. Sam stared at the stars and prayed they were real because he just couldn't remember if they were or not. But he did remember trying to count them all. With Dean. They'd been drunk and it had been a good night even if they'd only made it to fifty, or had it been fifty-seven, before one of them had fallen off the hood of the Impala; they never could agree who had been the one to fall in the first place, but they'd both ended up in the grass, so it really hadn't mattered that much in the end.

 _Good times, Sammy, good times. But those stars aren't real. I think they're pretty convincing though, don't you?_

A hand was on his chest and the voice spoke again just before Sam felt himself shoved under the water. _He_ said _You never made it out to see the stars, Sam. You're still here. With me._

Sam almost closed his eyes, but then he felt cold metal brush against his arm and it shocked him enough that he remembered to squeeze his left hand and then, mercifully, the voice vanished and he was alone in the water. He slipped under again while he was focusing on the pain in his hand, but then he quickly bobbed up.

Teeth chattering, Sam spun in the water until he could barely make out Dean's form to his left. He started swimming in that direction, realizing exactly how cold the water was and how numb his entire body was. He needed to be out of the water. He needed to remember why he'd gotten in the water in the first place, too, but when he reached the edge of the deck where Dean was lying still and pale in the firelight, Sam decided he'd try to remember that part later.

So he dragged himself up out of the water and it took much longer than it should have. By the time he'd made it to Dean's side, he was shaking with the cold and could only assure himself that Dean was still breathing and hadn't bled out before he slumped against the wall in an exhausted heap.

And that was right where the devil found him.

* * *

Dean heard the voice nearby and he held still. Didn't want to let Alistair know he was awake. This experience was surreal in a whole new way. He was used to the 'ordinary' tortures. He was very used to the rack. But this, this was confusing and disconcerting in a different way. It wasn't easy to keep track of anything down here, but Dean was pretty sure he didn't remember ever being in this room...this place before. Still not moving, but slowly letting awareness pull him back to reality, Dean thought back to what he could remember from earlier.

The flames and smoke all around him. The sounds of water. The heat. Sam's voice. No, he corrected himself, not _real_ Sam's voice. Dean felt a shiver run through his body and he clenched his teeth against the pain in his head and side at even that minimal movement. The room was quiet except for his breathing, the soft lapping of water and the crackling of flames.

And Sam's voice.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed even tighter. Because he didn't want to hear Sam. Well, he did want to hear _Sam_ , but he didn't want to hear this fake, hell-created version of Sam. Miserably, he curled tighter into himself and fought the despair.

"Not real, not real, not real…"

Gasping, Dean pressed his hands against his ears even though it hurt to take them away from his sliced open side. He didn't know why fake-Sam would be saying it wasn't real. Usually the point of the torture was to make it seem as real as possible just to make it worse when he realized the truth.

"Dean, please." And this time the voice, already shaky, seemed to break into a thousand pieces and Dean had to open his eyes. Because if Sam sounded like that, he was in pain.

Blinking in the darkness, Dean opened his eyes and found himself staring at a face that was so much like his brother's that he almost begged for Alistair to come cut him to a bloody pulp again. Because that was better than seeing Sam sitting there, white faced and shivering, his back up against a wall. With an expression of pure terror in his eyes.

"Dean, please, please, please, stop saying that...it's not real, it's not real." Sam was mumbling as he stared at some point just to Dean's right. Every once in awhile he'd flinch like he'd been slapped and then he'd start moaning again. "Dean, please, it's not real, it's not real…"

"Sam." Dean tried out his voice and was shocked that he _had_ a voice; that he hadn't screamed himself hoarse by now. And, as soon as he'd said his brother's name, he realized something. Shock rushing over him, Dean said, "It's not real."

It was like a switch had been flipped in his pounding head and Dean could see Sam sitting there plain as day and Dean knew _why_ Sam was saying what he did; why he looked like he did. Dean couldn't do much more than scoot along the floor, pushing with his legs while his hands went back around his middle and pain ripped through him. But he kept his gaze on Sam and didn't even try to figure out what the heck was going on. He just knew one thing. He needed to get to Sam.

By the time he'd started inching along, Sam had stopped talking. Stopped doing much of anything except sitting there like he'd died with his eyes wide open and his mouth moving with silent words that Dean could imagine all too well were desperate pleas. _Come on, Sammy, it's not real, man,_ Dean thought to himself though he couldn't spare the energy to say the words aloud yet. That would come in a moment, when he actually got close enough to touch his brother.

Specifically, to grab his left hand and squeeze it hard enough that Sam would snap out of it.

That was what Dean hoped, anyway. He had to pause and catch his breath and try to keep the darkness at bay. Because whatever had happened to him, he could feel the dizziness of blood loss and the throbbing behind his eyes that meant he'd probably hit his head somewhere along the line. His hand felt wet and warm against his side and Dean remembered the demon shredding him, eating his guts and he had to lay his head against the ground. _Not real!_ He told himself over and over. But it didn't stop the swell of nausea or the retching as he threw up whatever he'd eaten earlier. He couldn't even remember earlier.

Lying there, exhausted and spent, Dean opened his eyes and looked around. From where he lay, he couldn't easily twist his head enough to see Sam, but he had a good look at the room ahead. Or whatever it was. He squinted, eyes blurry and brain foggy. Because he could see stars above through the roof? And he could hear and see the lapping of water ahead of him. The walls were tilted and he abruptly noticed that _he_ was tilted. The floor wasn't flat, it was sloping toward Sam, but also toward the water. And then he felt the movement beneath him, all around him, and another round of gagging left him with darkening vision and a few startling realizations.

He wasn't in hell. Which was good.

He was on a ship. Which was bad.

Because the ship was haunted.

And on fire.

And sinking.

Dean swallowed hard and tried to move again, but he moved at the same moment the ship moved and all that nice clarity slipped away with his consciousness as a lance of pain spiked through his head.

* * *

Sam recoiled as the blade went through Dean's chest.

Again.

And then the blood was spraying him in the face and he jerked back; as if it would help. He'd lost the will to protest, to plead for it to stop, to beg Dean to run. Because running never helped, never would. It would never end. Never end. Never end.

 _That's right, it's never gonna end! I've got all the time in the world and I'm having so much fun with your brother!_

Sam couldn't react. He was too tired. Some part of his brain was screaming at him something about getting them out of the ship, but he couldn't get enough energy to even pay attention anymore. All he could think about was Dean. Standing there in front of him, being killed in every way possible.

"Sam."

Dean was talking and it was almost worse when he spoke because his voice sounded so real.

"It's not real."

And Dean sounded so certain that Sam almost dared hope. But then Dean's head was neatly cut off with a broadsword and Sam couldn't keep up anymore. He let his eyes slide closed. For a moment, it was quiet except for the sounds of water and what might have been the crackling of flames. He didn't know how there could be flames when it was so cold. Wishing he could just feel the heat and warm up, Sam's head tilted toward his chest and he felt the tug of unconsciousness.

Then the ship moved.

And he found himself falling to his left and his hand hit freezing cold metal and then Sam was clutching his hand with all his strength. Had to make it all go away. Had to _remember_.

"It's not real!" Sam said aloud, eyes still closed. "It's not real."

Squeezing harder, he forced his eyes open and the Cage and all the hallucinations faded away again and he remembered the most important thing.

"Dean!"

He almost fell into the water as the ship groaned and moved again, but he caught himself on his elbow at the edge of what remained of the deck, and looked at Dean. His brother had moved closer and Sam didn't have any idea how he'd done that. Scooting shakily forward, Sam pressed his fingers against Dean's neck again. Thankfully, this time his hands weren't covered in Dean's blood. His brother's skin felt warm against his ice cold fingers and Sam laughed in relief even though Dean seemed to flinch under his touch.

"Dean, man, you gotta wake up." Sam said, trying to gently pull Dean farther from the water. He got Dean situated as comfortably as possible against the far wall and he felt himself sliding toward the water. Planting his feet, Sam sat sideways so he could keep an eye on Dean and keep himself from falling into the ocean. The ocean that was getting closer every time he was aware enough to notice it.

Turning his attention back to his brother, Sam checked the makeshift bandages on his sliced up side. There was some fresh blood, on the bandage and on Dean's hand, but it was less than it could have been. Bracing himself as the deck swayed again, Sam gave Dean's shoulder a gentle shake.

"Dean. Dean? I know you were just awake. You gotta come back around, ok? I...I n-n-need your...h-h-help." Sam said softly, hating to say the words aloud.

Dean had a head injury and was bleeding out from a gash in his side and _Sam_ was the one who needed help?

 _So pathetic….just like always. He would be better without you. Always would have been_.

Sam squeezed his hand again before the voice got any louder. Why was it so bad right now? He shook his head, couldn't figure it out. It was bad almost all the time, but usually the pain he inflicted on his left hand was enough to keep the hallucinations at bay for a longer period than this. But he had to focus on other things.

"Dean, please." Sam said, hating that he was as pathetic as his freaking hallucinations said he was. But since more than half the time he _was_ hallucinating, he figured it wasn't all that pathetic to need a little help. "Hey, man, I know you're h-h-hurting...and, uh, I know...I know you were s-s-seeing things…."

His stomach flip-flopped just thinking back to when Dean had been begging for the demon to stop eating him. And then when he'd started screaming Sam's name... Foggily, he rationalized that it was the flames, the heat of the fire, the smoke that Dean was smelling coupled with his concussion that was making him flashback to hell.

"It's not real." Sam said aloud, not sure if he was trying to reassure Dean or himself. He stared at the flames and could only imagine what Dean had been seeing or remembering as he sat in the heat of the burning ship.

Sam couldn't feel the heat, though. All he felt was the ice wrapping its jagged slivers through his entire body, freezing him from the inside out. Staring at the nearest fire, which, thankfully, was beginning to go down, Sam wished he could feel the heat. Suddenly, he desperately needed to feel it. To feel something.

He crawled away from Dean, eyes focused on the flames that were licking up the wall. Ice cold hand reaching out, Sam was almost there, almost close enough to touch the flames. Almost close enough to feel the heat. But before he could warm himself, though, he heard a voice behind him shouting his name with a surprising desperation. Pausing, Sam turned slightly away from the flames and saw Dean's eyes were opened.

Wide opened and clearly terrified.

"Sammy! Get away from there!"

And Sam did. Just not the way either of them would have preferred.

The deck shifted and he was under the water before he'd even stopped smiling about the fact Dean was awake and talking to him.

* * *

Dean had been aware of movement around him, even of a soft voice. But it had been so muddled and hard to surface from the warmth that he gave up before even half trying. Somehow the presence near him felt comforting and safe and familiar and he just drifted on the fringes of awareness. A hand was touching his neck. And Dean flinched away from the ice cold fingers. There was a touch on his side and he wanted to beg whoever it was to stop touching him, stop hurting him.

"Dean. Dean? I know you were just awake. You gotta come back around, ok? I...I n-n-need your h-h-help."

That voice sounded _exactly_ like Sam's voice and Dean couldn't help it when he started pushing past the fog in order to wake up. It seemed harder than before, and he barely even remembered struggling awake earlier. But with every tentative inch he climbed up from the darkness, Dean felt himself remembering.

A job.

Nice and straightforward.

Back on a hunt.

Just what they both needed after...Dean wouldn't let his thoughts go there. He tried to focus on Sam's voice. A voice that was sounding less and less strong and more and more lost and weak. It also sounded like Sam was having trouble talking around his chattering teeth.

"Dean, please." There was a long pause then, "Hey, man, I know you're h-h-hurting...and, uh, I know...I know you were s-s-seeing things…."

Seeing things. Like Alistair. Like hell. Dean was almost there. The job, the hunt. East coast? Maybe West. He couldn't remember where they were, just that they'd taken on an abandoned at sea, haunted freighter. And Dean was swearing all over again in his head that he was never taking another hunt off of good old dry land. Because now the water he'd been hearing made an awful, dreadful, terrible kind of sense.

As did the fact he could see the stars.

The ship was on fire and sinking.

"It's not real."

Sam's words were even softer than before and there was an uncertainty to them now that had Dean's heart rate doubling and his anxiety spiking. Because Sam didn't sound like he believed what he was saying and that could only mean one thing. He was hallucinating. Dean forced his eyes open against the ten thousand pound weights sitting on them. He needed to see Sam, needed to _help_ him and keep him from getting completely lost in his broken mind. But by the time Dean had his eyes open, that familiar presence at his side was absent.

He blinked in the darkness and before he was even all the way awake he nearly had a heart attack.

Sam was about ten feet away from him, on his knees.

Reaching out a hand toward the nearest flames.

Dean didn't want to know what his brother thought he was seeing. And he really didn't want to even consider the thought that maybe Sam _did_ know what he was seeing and either couldn't comprehend why he shouldn't be trying to touch the flames, or didn't care. Dean pushed himself up on to his elbows with no small amount of agony and shouted.

"Sammy! Get away from there!"

The only relief he got was the fact that Sam immediately stilled, turned around and his sickly pale face brightened into a smile. Dean almost smiled back but then the ship lurched and Sam was pitched face first into the water.

"No!" Dean shouted again, struggling to move closer to the edge of the deck. His head was swimming and his side was on fire. But all he could think about was the fact that Sam was in the water, and hadn't broken the surface yet, and was more than likely trapped in the midst of one of his freakin' hallucinations.

Half-rolling, half crawling, Dean reached the edge of the water and very nearly joined his brother in the drink as the ship moved again. He gripped the edge of the deck with his right hand as his left curled around his waist. The water was frigid and as his hand slapped weakly against the water and he strained to see his brother in the blackness, Dean had a terrible feeling on top of his already bad feeling.

Sam's teeth had been chattering _before_ he'd gone in the water.

Dean cursed and shouted his brother's name again as loud as he could, "Sam! Come on, Sam!"

Because if Sam's teeth had been chattering _before_ he'd gone in the water, Dean knew that meant he'd already been in the water. Why, he couldn't begin to figure out, but he didn't doubt it for a moment. Because he was sweltering in the confined space with the smoking flames licking up the walls. Sam should have been just as hot and miserable as he was, but Sam's fingers had felt like ice. He was probably hypothermic on top of hallucinating and there was always that cheery thought that he might be injured on top of all of it.

"Sam!" Dean screamed again, lurching forward and moving his hand in the water, not sure what he was actually going to accomplish. He needed light, needed to be able to see. Needed not to feel like his head was going to roll away or he was about to bleed out.

Needed to find his brother.

"SAM!" Dean's voice was ragged but loud and it echoed off the water and the walls, snapping back to his own ears, letting him hear exactly how desperate he was. He stared at the water, strongly considering that it might be time to dive in after Sam.

And then he saw movement to his right. Just under the surface of the water. It looked like Sam was floundering, struggling to swim. And maybe he was; the hallucinations would be enough to keep him lost and confused enough that he would drown right there, an inch away from air. Dean threw himself to his right and ignored the spike of pain on impact and just put both his arms in the water and grabbed.

He connected with Sam's face and felt his brother jerk away from him. But right now, _he_ was the functional one, and wasn't that just fan-freaking-tastic, all things considered? And he was more focused on getting Sam _out_ than Sam was of getting away from him. Yanking with more strength than he really should have been able to muster considering his abdomen was sliced open, Dean pulled on Sam's shoulders until his brother's head was above the surface.

His jubilation at that victory was short and not very sweet because Sam wasn't fighting anymore, which should have been a good thing, but wasn't. Because not only was he not fighting off whatever hallucination he'd been lost in, he wasn't fighting to get out of the water, wasn't even fighting to breathe. His eyes were closed and Dean wouldn't let him even consider what the awful pallor of his face meant. He hadn't been under _that_ long to have drowned, had he? But then again, he wasn't exactly trying to breathe now, was he?

"Damn it Sam!" Dean choked out, his face almost in his brother's wet hair as he tried to hold onto him. He was now on his stomach on the deck, his hands gripping Sam's shoulders so hard he was sure there would be bruises tomorrow.

If they made it to tomorrow.

"Sam!" He shouted again. He couldn't move. Couldn't pull Sam out of the water. Not with his abdomen ripped to shreds. Not with the deck sliding him ever closer to the water. Not with Sam weighing fifty thousand pounds and not doing one single freaking thing to help.

Dean tightened his grip, feeling his hands go numb not from the grip but from the icy water. He stared at Sam's lax face, freakishly lit half white in the starlight, and half red by the flames. It was one of the most terrifying sights Dean had ever seen and then again it wasn't. His hands started to shake and his breath wheezed in and out in an ever increasing staccato.

"Not real, not real, not real." Dean said aloud although he almost didn't have enough breath to do it. But he had to because he needed to hear it. Because he wasn't sure. Wasn't sure at all any more.

Sam looked dead.

He'd looked like this before.

Cold Oak.

Dean gasped, "Please...come on, Sam, come on!"

In hell.

No, no, no, no…

Alistair.

The heat!

Sam's dead.

"No." Dean whispered, his head lowering. It was so heavy and he couldn't remember why it had seemed so important to hold it up.

His arms were being dragged down by something even heavier than his head and when his face hit something wet and hard that smelled like Sam's shampoo, Dean couldn't do it anymore. He let go of everything and couldn't even stop it when his face went into the water.

* * *

Sam's first sense of awareness was when something hard hit him on the top of the head. It knocked him deeper into the water and somehow knocked the desire to breathe back into him. He surfaced, gasping and struggling to catch his breath. When he came up, something knocked into his shoulder and Sam swiped a hand across his face and blinked in horrified shock as he realized Dean was face down in the water.

"Dean!" Sam coughed and spluttered as he bobbed just above the surface, struggling to stay afloat while he simultaneously tried to push Dean's head out of the water. "Dean!"

It wasn't easy, but he was finally able to get a hand on the slippery deck to hold himself up while he used his other hand to push at Dean until his head was somewhat awkwardly, and probably uncomfortably, twisted to the side. At least his nose and mouth were out of the water. And he was breathing. He coughed a couple times at first, then Sam could see his chest rising in the dim light of hellfire.

"No! It's not real!" Sam shouted aloud. Because he just didn't quite believe it yet, he shouted it again, even louder, "It's not real!"

"I can hear you! Geeze, Sam, take it down a notch, I've got a headache."

Sam almost went under again because he was so surprised and it sounded just like "Dean?"

"Yes, moron." Dean said, his eyes staring straight at Sam. "Get out of the water. Now."

"Can't." Sam said, feeling himself losing his grip on the deck and his grip on reality.

"Sam, you gotta get out of the water." Dean said firmly and suddenly Sam felt a hand on his. He flinched at the sharp pain that cut past the numbness in his left hand and then he could see Dean so clearly. Could see the worry and fear and hope in his dulled green eyes. Dean must have seen something change in his face, because he smiled all of a sudden and said, "Ya with me, Sammy?"

Nodding jerkily, Sam said, "Here."

"Ok, well time to get up _here_. You're gonna freeze to death."

"No! Please, no…" Sam moaned, closing his eyes and letting go of the deck.

"Sam!" The pain was back in his hand at the same time Dean's voice shocked his brain. Dean was tugging him by his left hand up onto the deck, but he couldn't do more than just hold him against the deck, still squeezing his hand. "Sammy, look at me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, man. Wrong thing to say."

Sam blinked back tears and salt water and tried to focus on Dean's face again.

Dean's other hand was behind his head, pulling him so close that Sam was waiting for the crack about personal space. But there was no crack. Dean just tugged him closer and said with a rare desperation, "Sammy. Please. Please get out of the water. Please."

"Dean?"

"Right here."

"Is this…."

"It's real, Sam. Get up here. Now."

Sam tried. He really did. But it was incredibly difficult to get his frozen limbs to cooperate and there was this nagging sense of nonchalance that had him almost shrugging and not bothering to move. He was so tired and he just didn't really care that much. It was at least quiet in his mind. The devil was gone. For now. And Dean was here. Maybe that was enough. Maybe he was safe enough. Maybe he could just rest for a moment. Dean was ok. Sam didn't really care about himself at this particular moment. Dean was fine. He needed to close his eyes for a moment.

"Don't you freakin' dare, Sam!" Dean's shout was ragged but effective.

It shook something loose in his brain and Sam found the last bit of reserve strength he had to his name and somehow managed to pull himself out of the water, immediately collapsing in a heap next to his brother.

He might have been happy if he hadn't been so damned tired.

* * *

Dean wondered how many more heart attacks he could survive before he'd be well and truly dead. He stared wearily at the limp, shivering body next to him and squeezed harder. He hadn't let go of Sam's left hand the entire time his brother had struggled to get out of the water. Dean could see all too well that Sam's ability to distinguish reality from hallucinations or flashbacks was perhaps even more tenuous than his was at the moment. At least right now Dean was able to remember that he wasn't in hell. That hell had been years ago and the only hell he was in now was the hell of watching his little brother suffer through his _own_ fractured memories and agonizing hallucinations of hell.

Well, ok and of course there was the hell of being on a burning, sinking ship.

That was so not cool.

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

Dean lowered his head to his outstretched arms, hand still squeezing Sam's. He whispered, "What…"

He broke off before he started. There would be no point in asking Sam what the hell had happened. He'd be lucky if Sam would even manage to stay with him if he let go of his hand, let alone remember what had happened. At least not and manage to give him the non-hallucinatory version. He needed to focus on what they were going to do next instead of what had happened before. And first thing first, he needed to get Sam back into his coat. Dean blinked his heavy eyes and tried to ignore the double vision as he looked at the deck.

The coat Sam had put under his head on earlier was gone. Probably slid into the water. Sighing, Dean looked at Sam again and shook his hand weakly, trying to rouse him. At least he wasn't spouting nonsense or diving back into the water, but he sure didn't look good. Dean cleared his throat and said, "Hey. Sam? Wakey wakey. I need your help."

"Dean?" Sam whispered, then groaned, curling in on himself.

It took all of Dean's concentration to keep a hold of Sam's hand when he moved. Dean was _not_ letting go until he saw some more promising signs of actual coherence. Sam had his eyes open, but they were unfocused and pained. They finally met Dean's and Dean smiled.

Sam smiled back briefly. His entire body was shaking and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably as he whispered, "Are...are we here? Together?"

Dean almost laughed. He just squeezed harder against the scar on Sam's hand because he could easily see the signs that his brother was barely holding it together. Maybe it was the hypothermia, maybe an injury, but whatever it was, Sam was doing an abysmal job of managing the hallucinations this time around. Or maybe Dean just hadn't been paying enough attention to know how bad things had really gotten for Sam. Dean didn't feel like laughing anymore.

"Sammy, we are right here. Together." Dean said, putting as much conviction into his words as was possible since he felt like he was in the process of passing out.

Again.

He needed Sam to be alright. Needed him to stay on the right side of reality. Because if he faded out again... Dean swallowed hard against the bubbling fear of what could happen if he lost consciousness and Sam went for another swim. Or tried to commune with the friendly flames. Dean shook Sam's hand again and held his gaze.

"Sam. We are right here on this sinking ship in the middle of the ocean in the real world right now. Tell me."

"Sinking s-s-ship. Right n-n-now." Sam chattered, his hand closing around Dean's.

"Good. I need your help."

Sam nodded, but didn't move.

Dean tried to think through a plan. It was difficult given the general crappiness of their situation. The ocean water was lapping closer to their unsafe perch on the tilted deck. The flames were actually dying down and because the ship was breached and the sky was showing through, they weren't in danger of asphyxiating. Which was the good thing. The rest of the bad was that he wasn't sure he could let go of Sam without him flipping out. And he didn't feel like he could move what with the ripping pain in his bloody abdomen and the marching band between his ears. Needed to get them both away from the water. Needed to get Sam warm, preferably without setting him on fire. Needed to not pass out.

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"We need to move."

"Yeah."

"The water…" Sam broke off as he started to push himself upright. "We gotta move."

"Yeah." Dean repeated because he was having trouble thinking of the right thing to say and _yeah_ seemed like a pretty good option under the circumstances.

"Dude." Sam said, on his knees now, and how had he managed to do that without Dean even noticing him move? Sam's face was bent low, near his face and Dean wanted to bat him away but didn't. There was just a hint of amusement in Sam's eyes as he said, "You gotta let go of my hand."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Need...need to keep...you…here."

Sam almost protested, but then he looked around the wrecked room and shuddered and this time it wasn't because he was freezing. He focused on his brother's face and said, "Don't let me go."

Dean smiled, "Never."

* * *

 **There's more! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

It took all of Sam's concentration to pull Dean away from the edge of the water. What should have been a simple process was complicated by his violent shivering, the fact Dean was in pain and not exactly helping, and Dean's never relaxing grip on his left hand. Of course, the fact that Dean kept squeezing his hand was also a very good thing because anytime Dean let up on the pressure, Sam was seeing the devil everywhere he looked.

"Good...enough." Dean wheezed. His head fell back on the deck and his face was the color of putty. For a few minutes, they were silent as Dean tried to catch his breath.

Even in the nearly non-existent light of the burning ship, Sam could tell he wasn't doing well. He heard the ship groan, but this time the deck stayed put. After a few minutes of silence, Sam looked down and asked, "Dean?"

"Still here."

"Uh...do you...remember where _here_ is?"

"Ship. Ghost."

"Did we get it?" Sam asked, checking Dean's bandage and wishing he had a flashlight. The best he could tell, it looked like there was no new blood on the bandage, which was encouraging even if nothing else was. Sam tried to focus on Dean and ignore the nagging fear of not knowing what what the heck was going on. Because he didn't remember a ghost. And he only sort of comprehended that they were on a ship.

"I don't know, Sam, was sort of hoping you remembered." Dean muttered, lifting his free hand to rub his face. "Head injury, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember." Sam said, nodding. "How are you doing?"

Dean sighed, but met his eyes and said, "Under the circumstances, I'd say I'm doing ok. Haven't bled out yet, have I?"

Sam lowered his head and closed his eyes. He whispered, "Please don't say...d-d-don't say stuff like that."

Dean was squeezing his hand again and said, "Sorry. Look, I got sliced in the side and I'm pretty sure I've got a concussion. Other than being cold, how are you?"

"I'm...here." Sam said, opening his eyes, but not quite strong enough to lift his head yet.

"Bad?"

Hesitating, Sam knew he might as well spit it out. Wasn't like Dean couldn't tell. He said, "It's...bad, yeah."

"Ok, well I'm right here with you and we're getting out of here, you hear me? And you just keep ignoring him." Dean looked awful, but there was nothing but strength in his eyes when he spoke, "Sam, he's not real."

"I know."

"You sure?"

"Most of the time." Sam smiled, but his heart wasn't in it.

Dean studied him and finally nodded. He asked, "Anything else? You hurt?"

Sam shook his head, "I'm fine."

"Why were you in the water? Not just now," Dean amended, "Earlier. You were already cold when you went in this last time. Decided you needed to work on your backstroke?"

"Uh, I was...was..." Sam trailed off. He slumped against the wall, tugging Dean's hand along with him because his brother was making good on his promise not to let go of him.

"Ok, let's focus." Dean said when it was obvious Sam didn't have anything constructive to offer. "Let's assume we ganked the ghost. Because the ship is sinking and burning and I'm going to choose to believe it's because we pissed the spirit off when we ditched it."

"Ok." Sam smiled, "I...I like that one."

Dean closed his eyes and a faint smile touched his face too as he said, "Me too. Ok. Ghost ganked. I got sliced and smacked on the head, you went swimming. Do you think you fell in earlier too? There's not much room on the deck."

"No," Sam said, glancing at the water, "I don't think so..I remember...I was there...for a reason."

Dean glanced at him and asked softly, "Was it a real reason, Sam? Or a..."

"I was looking for a way out." Sam said, with a flash of certainty. "It..wasn't a hallucination. I mean, it was later...when I was in the water...he..he...he..."

"Sam." Dean's weak voice grew just a bit sharper. It was enough to stop Sam from the moment of panic and refocus him. Dean said, "You were looking for a way out. Good idea. Good plan. Did you find anything?"

"Uh...uh, I don't think so..."

"Probably not." Dean said, looking around again at the twisted metal around them. His eyes were drawn to the stars. "I don't think there's any way out except up."

"How long...how long do you think.."

"Till we sink?" Dean asked, "Dude, lets not think about that ok? I don't wanna reenact _Titanic_ with you right now, ok?"

"P-p-promise you can f-f-fit on my p-p-piece of wreckage." Sam chattered, smiling.

Dean shook his head and grinned, but his grin faded quickly and he said, "We gotta get you warmed up."

"I'm ok...Just...just t-t-tired." Sam said and his eyes slid closed.

"Sam! Don't close your eyes, man."

"Tired."

Dean tugged on his hand and said, "Yeah, you're hypothermic is why. You wanna go swimming? Let's go to Florida…"

"Not F-F-Florida."

"Yeah, ok sure, sure how about the Caribbean?" Dean offered, "Jamaica? Aruba? Tahiti?"

"T-t-tahiti's in the Pacific."

Dean grinned, "Just checkin', Sammy, just checkin. Seriously, you need to put my coat on. Yours went into the water I think."

"I'm…"

"You're not ok, Sam. You're gonna be no help to me if you pass out. I'm next to worthless right now." Dean sighed, "You're the only one who's gonna stand a chance of getting us out. Which means I need you warm."

Sam shook his head. _Why is thinking so difficult?_

"Because you're hypothermic."

"What?"

Dean wasn't just looking sick now, he was looking extremely worried. He said, "You just asked why thinking is so difficult. It's because you're too cold."

"It's cold in the Cage."

"Sam, you're not in the Cage." Dean tightened his grip on Sam's palm until Sam started to pull away with a gasp of pain. But Dean never let up as he asked, "Tell me."

"Not there...anymore." Sam choked out. He nodded at Dean, "I know, I know."

"Help me get my coat off."

Sam shook his head, "No, man, you're cold."

"I'm not…"

"Yeah, you are." Sam smiled sadly. "It's the blood loss. You're not exactly doing so great yourself here."

Dean squeezed his eyes closed and said, "Any chance the Coast Guard…"

"I sent up a flare and used the radio before the ship started blowing up around us." Sam said and his eyes were probably as wide as Dean's were. He said, "I don't know where that came from, but I just remembered that."

"Well that's good." Dean smiled, then grimaced, looking even paler. He shifted and said, "Sam...I, uh, I think...I'm not.."

"Dean?" Sam frowned, leaning closer as Dean's grip on his hand loosened. "Dean?"

"Sammy...'m sorry man, gotta...just for a..." Dean's eyes were sliding closed.

"Yeah, yeah, ok, ok." Sam mumbled, heart pounding, "Sure, sure take a...t-t-take a...a minute. Ok? I know...I k-k-know you're t-t-tired…"

He held his breath, but Dean didn't answer him and Sam realized Dean's hand was completely limp in his. _So not good, so not good!I_ Taking a shaky breath, Sam gently put Dean's hand across his chest and checked his pulse and the bandage. No new blood but given how pale Dean was and how fleeting consciousness was, Sam wasn't exactly encouraged. He slid back against the wall and wrapped his arms around himself. At least the shivering wasn't so bad anymore. Sam thought back to sending up the flare and calling the Coast Guard, but he couldn't get anything more specific than the general remembrance that he'd done it.

His head hitting the wall behind him, Sam glanced around the wreckage and wondered if there was any chance that the Coast Guard would actually find them.

 _Coast Guard? Here in the Cage?_

"Not in the C-C-Cage…" Sam whispered, grasping his left hand desperately. He hadn't seen him yet, just heard him. Squeezing his hand got rid of the voice in his head and it was quiet.

Blessedly quiet.

Sam closed his eyes and slumped next to his brother.

* * *

The shrieking of metal tearing apart woke him. Dean blinked and tried to sort out what the heck was going on around him. He felt the world rocking and shifting and it was making him decidedly sick to his stomach. Felt almost like he was on a boat. And then his bleary eyes focused on the water creeping closer and closer to his left side and it hit him. He _was_ on a boat. A ship. A sinking, haunted ship. Transfixed, and still not all the way aware, he stared at the water and one by one memories started to come back to him.

Most importantly of which was the fact that he'd passed out.

"Sam!" Dean called out, voice small given the background noise of the ship ripping itself to pieces around him. _Them,_ he hoped. Tilting his head, he didn't see his brother anywhere and his panic level was about to reach critical mass. Then he heard a soft sound next to his right ear.

"Hmm."

"Sam?" Dean turned to his right, causing his vision to dim and a buzzing noise to overtake the sound of the metal twisting. He blinked until the spots went away, mostly, and then he turned a bit more to his side and he saw Sam. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and shallow, but he was there. Dean blew out a breath of relief, gathered his strength and said, "Hey, no sleeping on the job."

Sam opened his eyes but he didn't exactly look alert.

Dean got his arm coordinated enough that he could elbow his brother in the chest. He felt a shudder go through the ship. With no way to know exactly how long he, _they_ , had been out, Dean had to assume it had been awhile. Because the wreckage around them had shifted enough that he almost didn't recognize the room. The water was coming closer, but ahead of him, he could see the sky. Not above him, but ahead of him. Something had shifted and they had a way out.

Elbowing Sam again, Dean said hoarsely, "Sam, we gotta go. Got a way out now."

Sam's eyes were still open, but it was like there was nothing behind them. Dean swallowed hard and rolled with more than a little difficulty to his right side, gasping and groaning with the pain. But then he could reach his left hand out to shake Sam's shoulder. At least that got him some results. Sam squeezed his eyes closed for a second, then opened them and this time Dean could tell he had his brother's attention; fractured as it might be.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, eyes darting frantically from one corner of the flooded room to the next. "Where? Where're we?"

Shaking his shoulder again, Dean waited till Sam was looking at him before he forced a reassuring smile and said, "Stay with me, ok? We're on a ship."

"Ghost?"

"Exactly."

Sam frowned, his eyes slowly drifting shut.

"Stay awake." Dean ordered, squeezing his shoulder and realizing as he did that Sam wasn't shivering anymore. Worry tripling, Dean knew because he wasn't shivering because he'd suddenly warmed up, he wasn't shivering because he was getting worse. Dean forced himself to focus. Had to get them off the ship and had to get Sam warm before he died of exposure. Dean said, "I need your help. We gotta get out of here."

"Mmhmm." Sam nodded, making an effort to keep his eyes open this time.

"There's a way out. I need you to help me get there." Dean said, trying to keep it as simple and straightforward as possible. Between the hypothermia and the seemingly ever-present threat of hallucinations, Dean wasn't sure how much Sam was even going to be able to process at this point. "Sam?"

"'swayout."

 _Great_. _He's doing just great,_ Dean thought. But he nodded and said, "That's right, a way out. Can you get up? I...I think I'm gonna...need some help to get me on my feet."

Just the thought of moving made him sick, but they were going to die a cold death by drowning if they didn't get going. The water was rising much more rapidly than he'd seen it before and he had to somehow get them out of this room and hope that there was still a lifeboat out there somewhere. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he didn't want to reenact _Titanic_.

Sam was unsteadily moving by now and Dean held his breath, hoping his brother wasn't about to collapse onto him. But Sam managed to get himself sitting mostly upright. The change in altitude didn't exactly seem to be doing him any favors, though, and he wavered, both hands on the deck. Dean waited, fingers crossed, and after a moment, Sam straightened up and frowned down at Dean.

He said, "You're hurt."

At least that's what Dean thought he'd said. What had actually come out of his mouth had been something that sounded like _yoururt._ Slurring his words, wanting to sleep, no shivering, Dean was adding up all the numbers and coming up with an answer he didn't like at all. But he wasn't going to be able to do anything for Sam if they didn't get out of the ship.

So he said, "Help me sit up."

Between the two of them, they barely made one functioning person. It took a couple attempts before Dean was sitting up, pressed against the wall, Sam's hands on his shoulders as Dean struggled to catch his breath and not pass out again.

"Dean?" Sam asked, and at least that came out clear enough.

Dean swallowed back the nausea and whispered, "I'm ok."

Sam had the grace not to laugh, but he smiled and just asked, "Need a minute?"

"No. Need a beer." Dean answered, relieved that Sam was acting a bit more coherent now that they were moving. He rubbed his eyes, tried to see straight and pointed at the far wall. He said, "See that? The opening to the deck? We gotta get there."

"Ok." Sam nodded, glancing the way Dean indicated, then looking back at Dean. "Let's go."

Dean just pressed his arm against the wound in his side and did what little he could to help Sam get him to his feet. Given the fact Sam was about as steady as a sapling in a storm, Dean figured he needed to do whatever he could to help. The room spun fast and then slow and then he was on his feet. Hunched over and head pounding, but on his feet. _Good, good so far_ , Dean thought, forcing his head up just a little.

He stumbled into Sam and expected to get a little assistance, but wound up needing to grab a handful of his brother's ice cold shirt to hold _him_ up. Dean looked up at Sam and felt his heart sink. Sam's hands were outstretched defensively in front of him and his eyes were a million miles away.

"Not now." Dean muttered to himself, then yanked on Sam's shirt as hard as he could, saying, "Sam, whatever that monster's showing you, it's not real."

"Dean?" Sam asked, his eyes staring straight ahead but not seeing anything.

Dean felt his tenuous grip on awareness slipping as he stood there, holding himself up with one hand fisted in Sam's shirt. He shifted his weight, his hand shaking as he tried to maintain his grip. Leaning more heavily against Sam than he would have liked, Dean said, "I'm right here, man, and whatever you're seeing is a big fat lie."

Sam took a shuddering breath and Dean took his opportunity. He said, "Left hand. Left hand."

Bewildered, Sam raised his hands and then gave a moan of pain, fear? Who knew what the devil was making him see this time. His words slurred together as he mumbled, "No, no, no, no, no, nonononono."

"Not real!" Dean practically screamed, taking a chance and reaching out with his left hand to grab Sam's. His side burned at the movement, but he had no choice. This was so much worse than he'd ever seen it. Dean found himself hoping, praying, it was just the hypothermia and the awfulness of the situation and not the fact his brother had maybe finally snapped. Dean tightened his grip and said, "Not real!"

Sam groaned and fell sideways against the wall, but his eyes cleared and he was looking at Dean and then down at their hands. His entire body shook with an intense tremor, then he was reaching out and grabbing Dean, his left arm going around Dean's back, carefully holding him at chest level instead of the waist.

Dean sagged against him.

"We...have got to...go." Sam muttered, already starting to move toward the breach in the jagged metal that they were both hoping led to safety. "I..I'm sorry...man, I'm so sorry…"

"Not...your...fault…" Dean gasped, not feeling at all amused with the fact that neither of them could get a sentence out on one go.

His legs felt like warm rubber, but there was a surprisingly strong arm around him and they made it across the deck without another incident. The deck slid as the ship tilted and if Sam hadn't been hanging onto him, Dean would have been in the water and the way he felt, he knew he wouldn't be coming up again.

"Go, go, now!" Sam was saying too loudly for Dean's headache.

Dean felt himself shoved through an opening in the hull and he hit the deck on the other side so hard he saw stars; and not the kind in the sky. Flat on his stomach, he felt like crying with the pain, but he needed to find Sam first; make sure he'd made it through. And then suddenly a body thudded onto the deck next to him and Sam was grabbing him under the arms and dragging him up a hill.

No, a deck. A tilted, slick deck.

 _Running up a wall?_ Dean wondered to himself as the world around him spiraled in pretty colors and shapes. He heard someone moaning and crying out in pain, but he didn't have enough breath to try to console whoever it was.

It never even occurred to Dean that it was _him_.

* * *

Sam could see them. The lifeboats. Their only hope of surviving this. They were...up high. He squinted. The flames were licking up to the sky and the water was behind them, around them and Dean was moaning and why was he doing that? Sam looked from the lifeboats to his brother and could see the blood on his forehead. How had he missed that before? Sam stumbled over some debris on the deck that was growing ever steeper. Dean went down with a shout of pain that tore at Sam worse than anything in the world could.

"It'sok, s'ok, s'ok." Sam mumbled over and over as he dragged Dean back up and pulled him over the beam. For a moment, he just lay there against the deck, Dean raggedly breathing in his arms. He might not have gotten up again except heard a screech that made his ears hurt and knew they could not stay there...

"Up. Dean, gotta go." He encouraged though he had a feeling his brother was beyond hearing or caring.

Sam got to his feet and dragged Dean up with him, slinging his right arm up over his shoulder and trying to ignore the pained sound that came from Dean at _that_ movement. He had to get them off this ship. Had to get Dean safe. Focusing on that thought, that task, helped keep his mind off the fact that they weren't alone.

 _I dunno, Sammy, this looks pretty bad. You gonna be able to get him into the lifeboat?_

Gritting his teeth, Sam kept his eyes firmly focused on the lifeboat that seemed a million miles away. Then _he_ was right in front of them and Sam gasped, stumbling and almost losing hold of his brother. For a moment, he stood frozen, unable to move, unable to go around _him_ , unable to believe _he_ wasn't right there.

"'not here."

"What?" Sam's head snapped to his left when he hear Dean's voice.

"He's. Not. Here." Dean said, loudly and clearly enunciating each word.

"Dean?" Sam studied his brother's exhausted face, eyes barely open and he had a terrible doubt. He looked in front of them again and there _he_ still was standing there, laughing. Sam whispered, "How...how can you be...sure?"

"Aw, Sammy." Dean said, voice heavy and pained. With some effort, Dean managed to straighten a bit. He looked up at Sam and it wasn't pity in his eyes, just complete surety and compassion. Dean grabbed Sam's elbow, partially to steady himself, and said, "Trust me. All I'm asking. I know. I know you're confused and _he's_ not making it easy on you, but he is not here."

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment, trying to ignore the voice around him telling him his brother wasn't real. But he _was_ real. Sam knew it. He could _feel_ it. After looking around one more time, flinching when he saw another version of his brother being torn apart by a hellhound, Sam felt Dean grabbing his hand and he looked back at Dean.

"He's not here, Sam." Dean was saying. _Real Dean_ was saying as he squeezed hard enough on Sam's left hand that Sam really should have felt something.

Realization striking, Sam had to put out his right hand to steady himself against the wall when his knees gave out.

"Hey! Hey, hey, take it easy." Dean was there, still gripping his hand, but trying his best to support Sam as he wavered. "Sam?"

Sam shook his head and said, "Not working."

Dean didn't even need to ask what Sam meant. He knew. Swearing breathlessly, Dean leaned closer and asked, "It's always…"

"Too cold." Sam shrugged, staring at his hand, not wanting to meet Dean's eyes. "Can't feel it."

This time, Dean wasn't cursing and that was almost worse because when Sam finally did look up at him, Dean looked worried. _Really_ worried. But then, before Sam could panic, Dean shook his head, and pointed to the lifeboat. He said, "We have _got_ to get you warmed up. And we need off this ship. Now."

Sam nodded, in complete agreement. Without discussion and without even knowing who was doing what for whom, they managed to somehow wrap their arms around each other so that they were both supporting the other. They stumbled like a couple drunks against the rocking deck, but then Sam's hand was on the edge of the lifeboat. Relief flooded him and he shifted his hold on his brother, pushing him into the lifeboat. Dean didn't protest and collapsed into a heap in the bottom of the lifeboat, arms around his middle, face sickly green.

But he looked up immediately and said, through gritted teeth, "Don't you dare not get in this thing."

With a burst of surprised, probably hysterical laughter, Sam nodded and asked, "Can I at least get it unattached from the sinking ship first?"

"Bitch." Dean whispered, eyes closing.

"Jerk." Sam said, already working the winch to release the lifeboat from its rigging and get it ready to be lowered.

Taking a deep breath, he wasted no time in climbing into the boat. He really hoped this was going to work. The ship was tilting and the lifeboat swaying precariously, thudding against the ship at times. It was making him queasy and he could tell it wasn't doing Dean any good either. Slowly, the lifeboat descended toward the bobbing waters. He kept his eyes focused on Dean because that was the only thing keeping him grounded. After one of the longest minutes of his life, the lifeboat was in the water and it only took a couple minutes longer for him to sort through how to get it unattached from the rigging.

"So hard to think." Sam muttered to himself, wondering why he couldn't get his arms and hands to cooperate any better than he could his brain.

 _It's cuz you're crazy._

He swallowed back the despair. He'd already figured that out. Didn't want to, _couldn't_ think about it now. Crazy or not, he wasn't going to let his brother die because he couldn't figure out how to get a start up a motor on a lifeboat. And, despite the endless chatter of unhelpful negativity that floated to him as he worked, Sam got the motor to start up. He looked above them as the freighter groaned again and he knew they hadn't left the ship a moment too soon. The freighter wasn't under yet, but Sam didn't think it would be much longer and he wanted to be well away from it before it tried to drag them under too.

Sparing a glance down at Dean, Sam realized he was curled up on the bottom of the boat, shivering and quiet. Heart in his throat, Sam left the motor running and knelt next to his brother, checking the bandages. Dean didn't say anything, but moved his hands from his side while Sam worked. There was a little more blood now, but given their run to the lifeboat, it wasn't unexpected. Sam didn't bother to check for a pulse because he could see Dean's chest rising unevenly and he knew he'd never be able to feel a pulse with his numb, practically useless fingers anyway. So he satisfied himself with digging out a few life vests to pillow Dean's head against and covering him with one of the emergency blankets.

Dean just grimaced and let Sam work without comment.

 _Such a good medic. Too bad you're not as good with an outboard._

Sam looked up and realized he couldn't hear the motor anymore. He also realized he'd been slumped against the side of the boat. Asleep? Unconscious? Couldn't remember, but if the dull ache and stiffness he felt through his entire body was anything to go by, he'd been sitting there uselessly for quite awhile. Scrambling toward the stern, he went to the motor and tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

But the choppy dark water was soothing in a weird way and he stopped thinking and just stared at it. The world around him was so quiet, so peaceful. Sam felt his eyes begin to close. Then he heard Dean's voice.

 _Sam, ya gotta pull it together, man. Motor stalled. Probably got some debris in it._

Blinking, Sam looked at the motor and tried to figure out what Dean was trying to tell him.

 _You have to see why it's jammed. Gotta get the motor started or we're gonna die_.

"Not...letting you...die." Sam whispered. His head hurt and his body felt like it was drifting away from him the more he tried to stay in it.

 _No, you aren't. If you fix that motor, Sam. You need to get out of the boat and fix it now._

"Dunno how...fix a...motor." He had to put his head down on the edge of the boat. "Should call...Bobby...or Dad."

 _They're dead, Sam. They're dead. Just like I'm gonna be if you don't get out of the boat._

Sam moaned. He didn't want to let Dean die.

 _Then get out of the boat._

"'m so…"

 _I don't care if you're tired. If you don't want to kill me, get out of the boat and fix the motor._

"Dean." Sam moaned again, everything hurt so much. But he heard the urgency in Dean's voice. Knew he wouldn't be telling him to do this if it wasn't important. If there was any other way. "Ok, I'll... fix...fix it."

And the he was dragging himself up to the edge of the lifeboat and throwing a leg over the side. A shiver ran through his entire body as his leg went into the freezing water. It was the first thing he'd felt in a long time. He whispered, "Won't….let...you...die…"

"Sam!"

Sam froze.

"Sam! No! No! Don't...come on...come on, man! Look at me!" Dean sounded completely panic-stricken and just a little different than he had a minute ago.

Turning his head, feeling himself swaying with the boat, Sam squinted down at Dean. He'd pushed himself up from the pile of life jackets, and he was swaying too and barely holding himself up on his right arm, left hand reaching out. His face was ashen and Sam wondered why he looked so afraid. Sam tried to explain, tried to tell him it was ok, that he was doing what he'd wanted him to do, but even he had to frown as the words came out of his mouth. Because whatever he said was not what he'd been trying to say. All the words, all the thoughts were jumbling together.

Then Dean's hand was on his arm and he felt himself falling over. But it wasn't into the water to fix the motor. It was into the lifeboat. He fell against the hard floor and tried to push himself up but something was holding him down.

"Sam, calm down, ok? Calm down. Just...just lay….still a minute." Dean sounded breathless, in pain, scared. "I'm right here, Sammy. Whatever that bastard said to you, whatever he's telling you...it's not real. Sam?"

It was hard to absorb the words. They sounded like... _sounds_. But not like words. But it was the right _sound_. It was Dean's voice. The _real_ Dean. And then Sam was struggling to get upright again, arms flailing as panic flooded through him.

Dean was pushing him back down, though and this time the words were a little clearer. Dean said, "Just...stay still...it's ok. It's ok, man, everything's ok."

"I...d-d-don't...k-k-know...w-w-what's h-h-happening…" Sam said, his flailing hand finally finding purchase on Dean's arm.

"I know." Dean said gently, and he didn't try to break Sam's hold on his arm. He just lowered his head a little like he was really tired and said, "But I do. Ok? I know what's happening so you don't have to right now."

"Dean?"

"Right here, Sam."

"Ok." Sam whispered and closed his eyes.

* * *

Dean was going to throw up.

Another movement of the world had him groaning and clutching his stomach. As if that would help. Felt like he'd been stabbed there. His side was burning and his head felt like there was something pulsing the edges of his skull apart and together apart and together apart… Dean retched and gagged against the pain. It took him a minute or two, but then the sickness faded just a bit and his mind cleared. Mostly. Must have dozed off for a few minutes...

Listening to the sound of the waves, Dean tried to sort through the blurry memories in his mind and sort out what was going on and why he felt so crappy. Everything came flooding back and he needed to get his eyes open because "Sam?"

Dean's voice was so small he wasn't sure he'd even spoken aloud. Forcing his eyes open, he realized he was lying in the bottom of the boat, head on a nauseatingly bright orange lifejacket. Vaguely remembering Sam trying to make him comfortable, he put out a hand against the floor to steady himself and tried to figure out where Sam was now. It wasn't _that_ big of a boat. And then, before he'd even had time to start panicking, he heard Sam's voice.

"Not...letting you...die."

Dean shifted his head, called out, "Sam?"

He still couldn't see his brother, but he could hear him and he didn't like what he was hearing. Sam's voice drifted back to him a moment later and Dean frowned when he heard him say, "Dunno how...fix a...motor. Should call...Bobby...or Dad."

At that, Dean managed to shove himself upright enough to see that his brother was at the back of the lifeboat, head down on the edge. Calling his name again did no good and Dean gritted his teeth against the pain in his abdomen and head as he got himself sitting up. He fell against the side of the boat, catching his breath and heard Sam moan then whisper, "'m so…"

"Sam!" Dean croaked out, then had to break off to throw up.

"Dean." Sam was moaning again, giving no indication he was hearing anything. Dean wished the world could hold still for just one freakin' minute. He ended up having to brace both hands against the deck when a wave tilted it. Gasping for breath again, Dean heard Sam's voice saying in resignation, "Ok, I'll... fix...fix it."

And the he was dragging himself up to the edge of the lifeboat and throwing a leg over the side. Dean's eyes widened in horror as he watched and heard Sam say, "Won't...let. You...die…"

"Sam!" Dean shouted, lunging toward the stern. Sam froze which gave Dean just a bit of hope. If he'd heard him, maybe it wasn't too late. "Sam! No! No! Don't...come on...come on, man! Look at me!"

Sam turned his head and squinted down at Dean. He looked sick and half-crazed and whatever he was saying was nothing but a bunch of slurry gibberish. Dean decided not to waste any more time and reached out to yank Sam bodily back into the lifeboat. Sam crashed down to the floor next to him. He looked stunned, but immediately was trying to push himself up. Dean planted his hand against Sam's chest and said, "Sam, calm down, ok? Calm down. Just...just lay….still a minute."

He knew he was mumbling, babbling, but he was desperate. Because his brother had just been about to dive into the ocean because the devil thought it would be funny. If he hadn't awakened when he had...Dean bit back a curse and tried to focus on calming his brother down, "I'm right here, Sammy. Whatever that bastard said to you, whatever he's telling you...it's not real. Sam?"

It was obvious that Sam was having a difficult time absorbing the words. He was at least making eye contact now. But he still looked wild with fear, probably was still hallucinating, and then Sam was struggling to get upright again, arms flailing as panic flooded through him.

Dean shoved him back down, though, disturbed, yet also relieved, at how easy it was to hold him down. Dean held his gaze and smiled as best he could as he said softly, "Just...stay still...it's ok. It's ok, man, everything's ok."

"I...d-d-don't...k-k-know...w-w-what's h-h-happening…" Sam said, his flailing hand latching onto Dean's arm.

"I know." Dean said gently, and he didn't try to break Sam's hold on his arm. This was worse than when he'd been having flashbacks to hell. This, seeing Sam falling apart like this, and having no way to help him, this was so much worse. Lowering his aching head, Dean said, "But I do. Ok? I know what's happening so you don't have to right now."

"Dean?"

"Right here, Sam."

"Ok." Sam whispered and closed his eyes, his head flopping back onto the deck with a scary sort of finality.

Dean knew it wasn't a good thing for Sam to be unconscious given how cold he was, but maybe it was still better than him trying to dive into the deep blue sea. He held a hand against Sam's chest for a minute, making sure he wasn't going to find a reserve of strength and jump up again. But he just lay there, still, quiet and cold. All the pain Dean had managed to ignore while he'd been keeping Sam inside the boat, suddenly hit him like a pile-driver and he sagged to the deck next to his brother.

Time was a funny thing.

A few seconds could seem like an hour, an hour could seem like a few seconds. Dean shook his aching head against the scratchy fabric of the lifevest and wished he could remember which it was this time. An hour? A few seconds? All he knew was that he'd been lying there, not taking his eyes off his brother, for what seemed like a long time. Long enough that the cold had crept into his body, leaving him shivering and moaning with the pain the shivering caused his head and side.

And that was when he realized again that Sam wasn't shivering. And he remembered things like hypothermia and how that could cause death and then he was forcing his unsteady body upright again, swaying and almost losing consciousness. Needed to get Sam covered up. Needed to get him warm. But they were in the middle of the ocean, Dean still couldn't remember which one it was but he was assuming the Atlantic given how freaking cold it was. He didn't know if the emergency supplies in the lifeboat had any warm beverages, though his muddled mind guessed that there was probably some way to heat up water. It was a lifeboat right?

So he started trying to find the emergency supplies and realized Sam was lying on top of the emergency blanket. Dean tried, he really did, but he didn't have anywhere the necessary strength to move his gigantic brother when he was an unconscious dead-weight. There had to be another one, right? The light from the moon and stars wasn't much, but it was a clear night and it gave him enough light to work with to find the cubby where the emergency supplies were. Of course, the cubby was on the other side of Sam.

"Sorry, dude." Dean whispered as he tried to reach past his brother and ended up half-sprawled on Sam's chest. Sam didn't seem to mind, so Dean focused his shaking hands and blurry vision on the cabinet ahead of him.

With fingers that felt like huge hotdogs on the ends of his hands, Dean dropped almost everything he tried to pull out of the cabinet. Cursing wearily, his strength coming dangerously close to being completely exhausted, Dean found the chemical heat packs. With a sigh of relief, and about twenty tries, he managed to get them activated and situated around his brother. Finding another blanket, Dean got it mostly covering Sam before he ran out of strength completely.

He slumped to the deck, breathing hard, vision gone black and the warm feel of fresh blood on his side. Almost willing to give into the fog that was sweeping over him, Dean knew he couldn't yet. Because he needed to make sure he would know if the devil tried to get Sam to go for a swim, or something else equally terrible. So Dean moved until his pounding head was resting next to Sam's shoulder. He reached his left hand under the blanket and let it sit on Sam's chest again. Fisting his numb fingers into Sam's shirt, he determined that he would be aware enough to notice if Sam tried to go anywhere.

As he drifted off into a cold, painful oblivion, Dean had a passing thought that maybe there was an emergency beacon on the lifeboat. Before he could puzzle out what that meant or why he should care, he fell into the darkness.

* * *

"Time'sit?"

"Five minutes later."

"Five minutes later than what?"

Sam snorted but didn't comment. Dean wasn't necessarily being purposefully obnoxious. Necessarily. It really did just came naturally to him. Even so, Sam didn't entirely feel up to playing the game at the moment. Exhausted, and now warm enough that he could actually feel exactly how cold he was, Sam tried to concentrate on what his brother was saying. As hard as it was to stay focused, he knew Dean was having an even more difficult time.

"'s daylight." Dean whispered.

"Is not."

"Is."

"Not."

"Howould y'know?" Dean's words had a tendency to slide together now and that was only one of the many concerns Sam had at the moment.

He sighed and said, "Because it's just a little after two AM. Five minutes after, to be specific."

"Hate whenyour're 'pecific."

"You asked."

"'s daylight."

"It isn't."

"Howould y'know?" Dean repeated and only because he knew his brother like the back of his hand did Sam know that Dean wasn't repeating himself because he was confused; he was repeating the question because he hadn't liked Sam's answer. "Your'eyes'r 'losed."

Sam smiled in the dark. His eyes _were_ closed, but he tilted his head toward the sound of Dean's voice and lobbed the question back at him, "How would you know?"

"'m looking at ya."

"Liar." Sam said, peeking one eye open and confirming that Dean's eyes were, indeed, closed.

And he didn't look good. He was fading fast and there was precious little Sam could do about it. In the past hour, he'd done what he could to assess the wound, rebandage the bloody gash that neither of them could remember how Dean had acquired and keep them both warm. Once he'd awakened about an hour and a half ago, and Dean had finally convinced him that he was indeed on a lifeboat and not in the pit of hell, he'd taken stock of their situation and done what he could to make his brother comfortable under the circumstances. At least the weather wasn't bad so they weren't getting rained on. The sky was clear and it was almost kind of nice to lay there and stare up at the stars; clearer then even in the widest field they'd ever stared at them from.

Sam nodded, it was kind of nice.

Then he shook his head because it wasn't nice at all and they were stranded on a lifeboat in the middle of one of the oceans, they _still_ hadn't decided which one it was, and Dean was in terrible shape. Sam stared at him a moment longer, then asked, "How are you doing?"

"Same's when y'asked...five minutes'go." Dean said, irritation clear despite his lack of clarity with his words. At least he opened his eyes and seemed coherent enough when he asked, "How're you? Devil in'n house or we 'lone on the _Love Boat_?"

"Thought it was the _S.S. Minnow_." Sam said mildly. Every time Dean brought the boat up, he had a different name for it.

"Hot women on that one too." Dean's face split into a smile; no doubt picturing Ginger. Or the other one...Sam couldn't remember her name, not that names mattered to Dean as much as...well, as _other_ things. Dean continued and he looked peeved this time when he said, "Not here though. How'd we end up on this crappy little boat?"

Sam was relieved that Dean sounded clearer the longer he was talking. He said, "We ganked a ghost."

"Why'd we do that?" Dean muttered, rolling his head back so he could look up at the stars. It was a rhetorical question, Sam knew. But then Dean repeated his other question, "We alone, Sam?"

"Yeah. Just us." Sam said, relieved that it was the truth. He didn't want to tempt fate, but he hadn't actually had a hallucination after Dean had talked him through the last one when he'd first woke up.

"Good." Dean said, looking back at him and he looked as relieved, if not _more_ relieved than Sam felt. "Good."

"You warm enough?"

"Too warm." Dean complained.

"You're still shivering."

"Cuz I'm bleeding. 's what happens."

"Thought you weren't bleeding anymore." Sam said, concern spiking and starting to push himself upright.

Dean shoved at him weakly and muttered, "Oh stay put woudja? Rockin' the boat...and 'm not bleeding now."

Sam hoped he was telling the truth.

"Should we try counting them again?"

Turning his gaze back to the stars like his brother had done, Sam sighed, "We probably have time."

"And we're not drunk." Dean grinned, "Maybe you won't make me lose count at forty-five."

"It was fifty-seven and it wasn't my fault…"

"Are we really gonna argue about who fell off the the hood first? Again?"

Sam shook his head, drawing the emergency blanket more closely around himself. He really was tired.

"Sam?"

"Huh?" Sam tilted his head and realized Dean was staring at him expectantly. "What?"

"You zoned out again."

"Sorry." Sam said, not bothering to put on a front anymore.

"Still cold?"

"Not exactly floating in the Mediterranean here, Dean. Yeah, I'm still cold."

Dean shifted minutely because he just wasn't strong enough to do more than that. He said, "Take this blanket too."

Sam shook his head, "Not happening. You need it."

"Not hypothermic."

"You probably are. And you've lost too much blood and have a serious head injury so you're keeping it."

"I didn't decide to go swimming twice…"

"I didn't _decide_ to go swimming the second time." Sam rolled his eyes, pretending he felt some warmth from the long cooled heat packs. He said, "I fell in. Besides, it shouldn't be much longer now…"

Dean's expression told Sam exactly what he thought about that prediction. He narrowed his eyes and said, "I remember you saying that an hour ago. An _hour_ ago. Still waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting..."

"I don't know how long the Coast Guard's response time is to a random lifeboat beacon in the middle of...whatever body of water we're in." Sam said, considering rolling onto his side and trying to conserve as much of the precious little heat he could feel. But he was afraid he'd rock the boat and he really didn't want Dean throwing up on his shirt.

Again.

"I'd cuddle with you, Sammy, but you're not exactly a gorgeous redhead with these massive…"

"Ok, stop talking. Right now. Seriously." Sam shot his brother a glare as he tried to scoot just a bit farther away from him. "And talking about how cold I am is not making me feel any warmer so…"

"I'm sorry, man."

Sam studied his brother's face in the moonlight. Something had changed dramatically in Dean's entire demeanor. He was staring up at the stars and Sam had a feeling he wasn't talking about the teasing. Maybe he was apologizing for suggesting this hunt in the first place?

"I'm sorry I couldn't…couldn't find a better way."

Swallowing hard, Sam nodded. He said softly, "I know. It's not your fault. And I don't blame you. Not at all."

Dean still wasn't looking at him, and Sam knew two things. One, this sort of thing was not at all Dean's forte. Two, he was absolutely blaming himself for...probably everything. Sam didn't think there was any way Dean would ever absolve himself for his part in putting Sam's fractured soul back in place. Didn't matter that Sam was grateful; however awful the experience was, he was glad to be himself again.

He said simply, "I get it though."

The only response he got was a soft grunt that was noncommittal, but a sign his brother was listening.

"I'll never forgive myself for not finding a way...to save you from the deal." Sam said softly, tilting his head slightly to look at the sky. He said, "So I get it, ok?"

Dean surprised him this time by speaking up almost immediately, "Ok, now this is definitely _Poseidon_ and we're in the middle of one of those awful, sappy, we're gonna die but wanna say all our final words as the water is pouring in around our ears scenes."

Sam laughed, honestly laughed, and how long had it been since he'd felt like laughing? A long time. Before this case, before Bobby and he had to stop thinking those thoughts because he wanted to enjoy the moment. He looked back at Dean who was actually meeting his eyes this time. Sam said, "Be thankful it's not the _Orca_."

There was humor in Dean's eyes, but also sincerity when he ignored Sam's _Jaws_ reference and said, "You're gonna be alright."

And Sam knew that Dean had heard him and had accepted the offering of shared pain and regret. Accepted it and was offering hope back in return. Sam said, " _We're_ gonna be alright."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Just let me die now. Dude, I can't take much more of this emotional crap sober. Check again for beer. This things built for survival, right? Where's the beer?"

"Yeah, so we can be drunk when the Coast Guard gets here. I don't know how we're gonna explain this as it is."

"Being drunk might help our story, little brother." Dean grinned, "Works for me anyway. Come on, Sam, check again."

"Even if I found some alcohol, you think I'm giving you any with a concussion? I'm hallucinating, not stupid." Sam returned his grin, enjoying the expression of trepidation that flashed on Dean's face.

Dean just sighed, closing his eyes again as he said, "I'm so taking the longest hot shower in the history of the world when we get back to the motel."

That sounded so good that Sam found himself trying to remember what hot water felt like.

* * *

Dean waited a few seconds for the expected witty response from his brother, or else an argument about who was gonna get that first shower, but nothing was forthcoming. Turning carefully, still acutely aware of the burning pain in his side, Dean saw that Sam's eyes were closed.

Again.

"Sam?" Dean weakly smacked him in the chest and Sam blinked, looking groggy and unwell. Trying to return to the lighthearted tone of a moment ago, Dean said, "You're supposed to be keeping _me_ awake, remember? Lot of good you are."

Dean waited, but he still got no response. Bad sign. He said, "Come on, don't give up yet. You take a nap now and I swear I will go hunting for the alcohol."

Sam was trying hard to look amused, but mostly he just looked utterly exhausted. Dean sighed and said, "Ok, I get it. Look, I'll...I'll keep watch, you get a little rest. We'll take turns." Never mind that _technically_ it was his turn. Dean added, "Just...you better wake up when we get rescued. I'm not explaining all of this without backup."

Again, he waited for a response, but Sam closed his eyes. _Wonderful_. Dean stared him and said, "Alright then. Guess I get to figure out a good story to tell the Coast Guard. You suck."

Sam smiled.

Dean grinned and looked back up at the stars.

Time to start counting.

* * *

 **What did you think? Hope you enjoyed! I did extensive research on lifeboats and what type might be found on a freighter. I even downloaded an operator manual so I knew I was at least trying to be a little accurate. But I honestly know nothing about ships or lifeboats other than what I've seen in the movies lol. Thank you so much for reading!**


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